


A Matter of Time

by zaan



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Adoption, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaan/pseuds/zaan
Summary: Benjamin Sisko has never faced a challenge as intimidating as this one: five year old Garak.
Relationships: Elim Garak & Benjamin Sisko, Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir & Miles O'Brien, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 88
Kudos: 136
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	1. Schoolboys

**Author's Note:**

> Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity  
> \- Hippocrates

Commander Benjamin Sisko's mood, already sour from an hours-long meeting with a cloyingly condescending Kai Winn, soured further when he spotted, sauntering into the Teclite archaeology exhibit set up on the Promenade and appearing altogether too cozy and contented in each other's company, his CMO, Doctor Julian Bashir, and the Cardassian tailor, Elim Garak. 

They leant close, pointing fingers and making whispered comments about the people and the exhibits, snickering and giggling like two naughty schoolboys. Julian's hand hovered over his mouth in an ineffectual attempt to smother his mirth at his companion's amusing but no doubt inappropriate and uncomplimentary observations.

Ben scowled, but a twist of a smile blossomed in it as he realised that here was a gift from the Prophets, a righteous outlet for his foul mood: Dr. Bashir was long-overdue for a scolding on the proper behaviour of a senior officer. Setting his sights, he advanced upon them with all the intent and menace of a stern-handed and belt-wielding schoolmaster. Before he could pounce, however, Fria Pellok - a good-natured Bajoran woman with a flower shop on the Promenade - floated in front of him, smiling.

"Emissary! Good day to you!"

He stopped himself short before he bowled into her. 

"Pellock, how nice to see you," he exclaimed with slightly overdone bonhomie. "Have you come for the exhibit?" 

They exchanged pleasantries, and he moved on only to find another person waiting to take her place. There was never any shortage of Bajorans wishing to bless or be blessed by the Emissary, eager to ask for his opinions and advice. Ben made the correct bows and nods, listened courteously and responded politely, but when he saw an opening he made his escape.

He slipped into the exhibit. Archaeologists estimated the age of the artifacts in the millions of years, belonging to a dead civilization whose secrets still lay with them in the dust but for the mysterious stone statuary currently gracing the Promenade. Ben ignored all of it. He searched the crowd, certain he had seen them come in. It was just the type of event that would appeal to the two of them.

In his opinion, Dr. Bashir spent entirely too much time in Garak's company, even if it were only to debate literature. Despite the salacious rumours that had run around the station the first time Julian and Garak had sat down at the Replimat together, Ben allowed the possibility that the friendship between the two was as innocent and chaste as it outwardly appeared - but he should never have allowed it to blossom. 

He had never trusted the tailor, and once more he regretted his arrogantly naive let's-give-everyone-a-chance Federation attitude that had made him ignore the counsel of both Kira and Odo to catapult the Cardassian out of a metaphorical airlock the first time he'd stepped foot on the station. Now it was too late. He was stuck with the proverbial serpent in the garden, and said serpent was assiduously slithering into the good graces of Dr. Bashir and even, unbelievingly, many of the Bajorans on the station who happily frequented his shop and soaked up his flattery. 

Ben side-stepped a few more friendly encounters with a number of these Bajorans, making use of the crowd, and finally spotted his prey at the far corner of the room, standing in front of a large stone obelisk with faded markings that trailed over its facade like a dead vine clinging to a tree. 

He stopped, the disappointment smacking him in the face. He was too late. Garak and the doctor had transformed from schoolchildren to scholars, delicate gestures and frowns dancing between them as they debated the meanings behind the idol's markings. Sober and serious and beyond reproach – he'd only look foolish if he descended upon them as they were. 

His bad mood resurfaced. The only thing to be done was to run home with his tail between his legs and try to block out the events of the day. He turned to go and was almost knocked over when a small form hurtled past his legs, laughing gleefully.

"Molly! Don't run!" Keiko squirmed through the crowd, trying to catch up with her daughter. 

On hearing her mother's shout, Molly turned back to look at her - and crashed headlong into the pedestal holding the obelisk. 

It rocked unsteadily. The statue lurched forward.

Garak yanked the doctor out of the way. 

The obelisk cracked as it hit the floor.

A blinding light flashed forward – and then it was quiet, the light gone, Molly staring wide eyed at two prone figures on the floor while Keiko rushed up to gather her into her arms.

Ben pushed forward through the jabbering crowd and stopped. Before him was not the familiar face of his CMO nor the aggravating smirk of the ex-Obsidian Order operative, but the bewildered expressions of two children. He hit his combadge.

"Sisko to Sickbay. We have a medical situation on the Promenade."

"On our way, Commander."

Ben waited for the medical staff to arrive. They appeared all right, despite the dramatic reduction in their ages. About five years old, at a guess. They were sitting up groggily. Ben reflected on the irony of his earlier description. 

Schoolboys, indeed.


	2. Gossip

The inhabitants of DS9 had a healthy appetite for gossip, and they chewed over the incident all afternoon with barely suppressed greed. A handful of the most insatiable chin-waggers loitered away their day in the vicinity of the infirmary, nibbling on tidbits of information tossed to them by nurses on break. Their vigil was enlivened by the occasional glimpse inside as staff came and went and then again when the golden few arrived.

The golden few (the general term applied to the senior staff by the station's less exalted inhabitants) now stood gathered in the main sickbay, with the exception of Jadzia who had barrelled off to peek into the backroom where the boys were being given a thorough examination. 

"They're _adorable_!" she enthused as she returned, grinning from ear to ear and down to her spots, but her enthusiasm fell on deaf ears. 

Kira, who disliked children in general and Julian and Garak in particular, was wondering how she could squirm out of babysitting duty. The Chief was thinking about the complex repair job he'd been forced to abandon and regretting the temporary loss of his darts companion. Odo was considering whether he would have time to plant more bugs in Garak's shop and quarters before the accident was reversed. 

Ben was merely dreading the mountain of incident reports he would have to file.

"Did you have a chance to talk to the Teclite historians?" he asked. After the infirmary staff, Jadzia had been the first person Ben contacted, and he had sent her off to the Teclites in the faint hope they could provide a practical solution to the problem and not just a two hundred page dissertation of the artifact's cultural significance.

"Do you mean did I have a chance to listen to them? Yes. Did you know that this will revolutionise their field? That it will bring their work into focus, maybe even win them the Teclite Trianate prize – which I gather is a very big deal? That this blows Professor Tec'Ochite's competing theory out of the water? "

Sisko's grin was half amusement and half relief. "Better you than me, old man. You get anything useful out of them?"

"A little. Their best guess is that the artifact was used in some kind of regeneration or restoration ceremony called a 'reliving' – though there's a lot of speculation whether it was a punishment or a privilege."

"Maybe it was both," said Kira.

"Maybe," agreed Ben, "But it does mean it was done deliberately. If it's true, it would seem to explain some of the facts, such as why Garak and Julian are about the same age now even though Garak is significantly older than Julian."

Miles glanced toward the back room. "How are they? Have they said anything?"

"They appear to be all right. Certainly their personalities are intact, even if their memories aren't. Garak won't answer any questions, and Julian won't stop asking them. Neither of them is acting like you'd expect children to act if they just appeared in a strange place without their parents, though. They don't seem unduly upset."

"It makes sense," Jadzia said. "If you set out to de-age someone, you wouldn't want that person to become agitated or scared because their parents weren't there or because they suddenly found themselves in a strange place. Maybe they designed it so a person would lose memory but still have some kind of residual awareness, so that people and places might feel familiar even if they had no memory of them." 

"Whatever the reason, I'm glad of it. It'll make looking after them easier until we get this sorted out." 

Jadzia started planning out loud. "I'll see if I can get my hand on that obelisk, then scan it and the Promenade. There might be some residual energy readings or something. I'll want to see Julian's and Garak's medical scans too."

Ben nodded. "Any help you need, you've got it. In the meantime ... any volunteers for parenting duty?" He looked at his staff expectantly. He may have to bear ultimately responsibility for every problem on the station, but he had no intention of taking on this particular burden himself.

No one volunteered. Ben waited patiently, knowing full well that no silence is as uncomfortable as a guilty silence. 

Miles broke first.

"I can take Julian, I suppose," he said, with the tone of one lifting a heavy and unjust burden, "But there's _no_ way I'm taking Garak too."

Kira nudged Jadzia and gave her a charming and patently innocent smile. "You seem to think they're adorable."

"I'd love to, but I'll be too busy looking into this."

Kira turned to Odo with a look full of pleading and promise.

Odo sighed and let his shoulders droop in exaggerated way that only a Changeling could manage. "I can look after Garak, Commander."

"Then that's settled. Thank you, Odo, and you too, Chief. Hopefully we'll all get this sorted out tomorrow." 


	3. Decisions

Three days later Benjamin Sisko sat in his office, twisting his baseball into his palm.

"You're telling me there's no chance. None." 

Ben punctuated his words with a vague, agitated fluster of fingers that entirely failed to convey his dismay, disbelief, and displeasure. 

Dax shrugged, no more perturbed than if they'd been discussing the certainty of a rainy day ruining their vacation. 

"There's never _no_ chance, Benjamin, but even Quark wouldn't touch these odds. So far as I can see, Julian and Garak will just have to grow up the old-fashioned way."

She had the audacity to quirk her mouth up into a grin at her pronouncement, but Ben Sisko wasn't the man to give up on a game before all the innings were up.

"Surely there are precedents, research – "

"Benjamin. I've looked at _everything_. Over and over again. In every other documented case there was some kind of starting point, residual energy, an odd transporter signature - _something_ we could get our hands on. I've scanned this artifact with every device I can think of and whatever it was before, now it's nothing but a lump of rock with markings too faint to read."

"And Garak and Julian?"

"Every reading is completely normal. If you didn't know what had happened, you'd never have believed anything _had_ happened."

Sisko rubbed his forehead, forcing down the headache bubbling up beneath his fingers. If Dax was right, it was no longer a minor inconvenience; it was the sudden burden of two lives. What was he going to do with Julian? With _Garak?_

He straightened up. 

"Keep trying, old man," he said. A faint possibility was still a possibility. "In the meanwhile, I think it's time to talk to their families."


	4. Felix

To Ben's surprise, Julian's designated emergency contact was not his parents but a man called Felix Knightly, a friend of Julian's and (according to Chief O'Brien) one of the most creative and influential holodeck designers in history. 

Ben contacted the number provided. Given the man's stature, he expected to navigate a tangle of personal assistants and executive directors, but Felix himself appeared - and started talking without ever once looking at the screen.

"I'm glad you called. Which of these creatures looks scarier, the spiky one or the slimy one? Or maybe I ought to - "

"Mr. Knightly," Ben interrupted.

The shaggy head jerked up. "Oh, sorry. This is Julian's number, so I was expecting Julian, naturally. Who're you?"

"I'm Julian's commanding officer. I'm afraid there's been an accident. Julian was turned back into a small child when he was caught in an energy beam coming from an ancient alient artifact. He's all right, but I'm afraid we can't reverse what happened."

Felix was silent for a long minute, leaning back in his chair. Finally, he shook his head and snapped his seat up. " Well, shit luck for Julian. Bet he makes a cute kid, though. You know, I never believed half the crazy stuff Julian told me – I mean, aliens granting wishes? Wormhole prophets? Wasn't _I_ wrong, though. How'd it happen?"

"As I mentioned, there was –"

"No, no, details. I want the details."

It was by far the oddest condolence call Ben had ever made, though admittedly the circumstances were unusual and Julian's next-of-kin choice even more so. He complied with the request, starting with a description of the exhibit and ending with the historians' conjectures. 

Felix took notes with an old-fashioned pencil and piece of paper. When Ben was finished he sat back, tapping the pencil against the desk in a quick staccato.

"A reliving, eh? That's perfect, really perfect."

"I'm sorry? Perfect for what?"

Felix frowned at him. "For the holo! This will make a _fantastic_ holo. Can you imagine? I could make everything bigger, so you'd feel like a kid. Reflections in the mirror. The memory bit is tricky, though there might be a field dampener ..."

"Mr. Knightly –"

"Felix, I'm not a Jane Austen character."

"Felix," Ben corrected himself, with all the weary patience he could muster. "You do understand that in real life this is irreversible? Which means there is the matter of arranging a guardian."

Felix waved him off. "I don't do practical stuff. You decide what's best, or you can talk to my assistant. If you need money or anything, that's not a problem."

Ben tried another tack. "What about Julian's parents?"

"You don't want to go there. Julian cut them out of his life ages ago, before I met him. Wouldn't tell me anything but made me promise not to contact them, even if he was dying."

"I see," said Ben, who very much did not, but there seemed little point in trying to get further information out of the designer. "Thank you very much for your - "

"Wait. Spiky or slimy?"

Ben sighed. "Slimy," he said, and cut the call.

He slumped back in his chair. It was neither the conversation he had pictured nor the outcome he had desired - nor were his trials over. The discussion on slimy creatures reminded him that he needed to contact Dukat, whom he'd asked for help in tracking down Garak's next of kin. 

Garak had been required to file this information as part of his residency permit, but when Ben tried contacting the dutifully submitted names he found – to the switchboard operator's great delight – that Garak's 'parents' were two centuries-dead poets. "But very good ones," the operator had assured him with a grin. So he turned to Dukat who, albeit reluctantly and with no attempt at good grace, had agreed to help. 

Ben put the call through.

"Gul Dukat," he said, employing the exaggerated politeness with which he needled Dukat. "Thank you again for your help. Did you get the birth certificate from Central Command?" He hoped so. The reams of paperwork required to sate the appetite of the bloated Cardassian bureaucracy had given him writer's cramp.

Dukat replied with a slippery, smug smile. "I did."

"And the names of his parents?" Ben prompted, repressing a sigh.

Dukat's smile spread like oil on water. "Oh, I'm afraid it turns out our dear tailor doesn't have any parents."

"Dukat, I'm a busy man. I don't have time for your petty attempts at humour." The weariness was starting to settle in permanently around him, like a lead-grey fog of stale cigar smoke.

"It's certainly amusing, but I assure you it's not a joke. There _are_ no names on the birth certificate, Commander. It turns out Garak is not just a metaphorical bastard. I should have guessed, really. Garak is such a common, serving-class name. The Order never did have standards; he never would have been allowed to join the military."

"But he _has_ parents, relatives – surely someone will want to –" 

Dukat's laughter cut him off. 

Ben bit back his first response. "Then what about other options?" he asked. "Is there an orphanage that would take him?"

Dukat stared at him. "Have you really learned so little about Cardassians, Commander? Family is everything. No one wanted Garak before, and no one wants him now. If you want to send him back, do. I've no objection. He can live on the street with the other vermin."

Ben slammed a hand down on the desk. "I'm not sending a _child_ to live on the streets."

Dukat glared at him with venomous eyes. "Then I suggest you try the bleeding hearts of Bajor."

He cut the call.


	5. Responsibility

Ben waited as his senior officers arrived and took their seats. Odo had Garak with him, and the Cardassian passed Ben with a stony, silent stare as unblinking and unnerving as any crocodile. Miles also had Julian in tow, but where Garak had passed without speaking, Julian stopped and looked up at Ben with a surprised grin.

"I remember you. You were in the infirmary, weren't you? You're Commander Sisko."

"I am. That's a very good memory you have."

"I know. I'm good at lots of things."

Ben smiled. Not everything had changed, it seemed. "Why don't you go sit with Garak over there while we have our meeting?"

"Okay," Julian said brightly. He scampered over to sit beside Garak, who eyed him warily. "Hi Garak, remember me? I'm Jules. Do you want to play with my PADD? Or play a word game? I know lots of games."

Garak studiously ignored him. Julian frowned but, undaunted, he shuffled closer. Garak shuffled back, the dance continuing until Garak was wedged in the corner, leaning back at an uncomfortable angle to keep himself as far away from Julian as he could.

Ben reluctantly withdrew his attention to start the meeting but after a few minutes of listening to everyone report the roadblocks and failures he'd already heard in depressing detail, his eyes wandered back over to the two children.

Julian, far from giving up on the apparently still uncommunicative Garak, was studying him with interest. "Can't you speak? Are you shy? Or maybe you have a medical condition, or you just never learned. What are you, anyway? You're not a Vulcan, and you have ridges, but you're not a Klingon."

Garak didn't answer, frowning at Julian as if he were a particularly obnoxious insect buzzing around him.

Julian pressed on, forehead wrinkled in thought. Suddenly he brightened. "Oh, I know! You're a Gorn, aren't you!" He pointed a finger and sat back with a self-satisfied grin.

" _I am_ _not a GORN,”_ Garak hissed, outrage driving him to speak. He bestowed a glare on Julian that would have sent any other child scrambling away.

"Then what are you? These are scales, right? Oh, hey, they're not slimy!" He poked Garak in the arm. 

Garak yanked his arm away and looked at Julian incredulously, clearly finding his behaviour miles outside the normally accepted limits. " I'm a _Cardassian_ , and my scales are _not_ slimy. "

"I've never met a Cardassian before. I'm a human."

"Oh?" Garak sniffed.

Sisko watched, entranced. It wasn't the Julian and Garak he knew, and yet all the pieces were there: Julian's enthusiasm and tenacity, Garak's wariness and reluctant fascination. He would have watched longer, but Dax had finished her report and it was time to get down to brass tacks.

"All right," said Sisko. "Disappointing as it is, we need to deal with the reality we have. Starting immediately, Dr. Girani will be acting CMO. I'll notify Starfleet of the situation and request they send a new officer."

Kira spoke up. "We'll need to clear out and reassign their quarters. Do you think there's anything there they'll need?"

"I already walked Julian through; we rescued Kukkalakka and a few children's books and this horrible orange and purple rug, but everything else can be packed up," Miles said.

"Garak's quarters will require a thorough examination," said Odo. "He will almost certainly have weapons hidden, and there may coded information stored somewhere that may be useful in one or two investigations."

"I'll give you a hand," said Jadzia, with a look to reassure Benjamin that she would safeguard and sort through Garak's personal possessions.

"Put everything in storage, for now," Ben told her.

"What about Garak's shop?" asked Kira. 

"I'll ask Quark to find a buyer," said Odo. "At a _reasonable_ fee. He'll probably pester you about putting in a massage parlour again, Major."

"Let him."

Ben nodded. "Then that just leaves the more difficult question of arranging long-term care. "

Miles spoke up, a flush in his face and an embarrassed fluster in his voice. "Keiko and I – we talked, see – and well, we'll take Julian. He can live with us."

Sisko looked at him in surprise. "Are you sure, Chief? It's a big commitment."

"We've talked it over. He's a sweet kid, a bit of a talker but no surprise there – and it's not like we don't know what he's like, not like with –" he nodded vaguely toward Garak. "Anyway, Molly and he get on swell, and it's good company for her. There's not a lot of kids on the station. Besides, my dad always used to say that two isn't much more trouble than one."

Ben beamed at him. "I don't think he could ask for a better home."

"Thank you, sir."

Ben continued. "As for Garak, I've contacted the Administrator of the orphanages in the Eastern Provinces. Hopefully I'll hear something soon." He didn't mention that the man had been none too keen on Bajor being asked to take in not only a Cardassian child post-Occupation, but a Cardassian without the excuse of innocence, a Cardassian who might very well have played a role in their oppression. 

A tremulous voice interrupted.

"Why can't Garak stay here? He's really nice, once you can get him to start talking. Really! He's my friend."

Ben looked down in surprise and saw Julian's brown doe-eyes staring up at him, starting to swell with tears. He cursed his lack of judgment. It had been too long since he'd had a small child around. Of course they'd been listening, and here they all were discussing their fates as casually as if they were sorting the staffing scheduling.

"Julian," said Ben, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder while casting an uncomfortable look to where Garak sat in the corner, steadfastly looking down at Julian's PADD. "It's the right place for Garak. He'll be with other Cardassian children."

Julian nodded dejectedly, unconvinced but obviously feeling the illogic rather than being able to express it. Ben quickly ended the meeting and they all shuffled out, Julian with a last longing look at Garak as Miles ushered him out of the room.

"Constable, a word?" Ben asked before the security officer could leave. He'd noticed a few knots in Garak's hair and dirt under his ear, and the fact that he was still wearing the same set of clothes that had been replicated for him in the infirmary, now stained. "You haven't given Garak a bath? Or a change of clothes?"

Odo gave him a surprised look. "He never asked."

"You _did_ feed him, though."

Odo's affront was obvious both in his clipped reply and straightened posture. "Of course I _fed_ him." He paused and then added, for clarification, "I fed him Hasperat."

Ben waited. "And?" he asked.

"And what?"

"And what else did you feed him?"

Odo looked at him, clearly baffled. "Why would I need to feed him anything else? The computer assured me that Hasperat contained all the essential nutrients needed by Cardassians. "

Ben sighed as the inevitable caught up with him. There was the guest room, and he could no doubt count on Jake to help, but still ...

He could only hope he heard from the orphanages soon.


	6. Jake

Sisko stood in the kitchen letting the smells of spice and oil soothe him. Sweet onion and garlic, olive oil, cumin, chili, Spanish paprika his father had sent in his last care package from Earth, all swirling together into a pleasing pungency. He didn't normally cook in the middle of the week, but he was trying to instill normalcy into a stressful and chaotic week. He was definitely not hiding out in the kitchen to avoid another failed social interaction with a five-year-old. 

He could feel said five-year old's eyes on him now. Garak was always watching silently from a distance. It was eerie, unsettling - like a baleful cat hiding under a table or a possessed child from one of those old horror movies from Earth that Jake and Nog watched voraciously. 

There was one in particular that kept coming to mind: the Stepford Wives. Garak was the perfect child who did what he was told and ate what he was given, who went to bed without complaint and cleaned up the refresher after he used it. 

Ben didn't know how much more of it he could take, and when Jake returned home his relief sprang like a river from the mountains in spring.

"Hey, Dad," Jake said, dumping the PADDs and rucksack and half-eaten apple unceremoniously onto the coffee table. 

"Hey, you," Ben replied, engulfing him in a tight hug, holding on too long so that Jake squirmed to get away. Ben stepped back reluctantly and ruffled his hair with affection. 

"Smells good," Jake said. "You don't normally cook mid-week."

"I thought we needed a break," Ben said, retreating to the kitchen. 

Jake grabbed one of his PADDs and flopped on the couch. "Hey Garak," he said to the shadow in the corner. 

Ben smiled. Jake had taken the former-spy-turned-houseguest in stride - growing up in space meant more than a passing familiarity with peculiar phenomena – and dealt with it far better than Ben did, talking to Garak in a friendly, conversational tone without any pressure on Garak to respond. Ben could hear him now.

"I'm writing a story," Jake was explaining. "It's about this guy who crash lands on a planet. I know, it's a trope, but what isn't? You want to hear what I've got so far?" Without waiting for an answer, he began reading from his PADD.

Ben finished cooking and when he went in to announce supper he noticed that Garak had inched closer to Jake and was listening avidly.

"Sorry to interrupt, but supper's ready."

Jake threw a friendly smile at Garak. "I'll tell you the rest after dinner," he said, and started to help set the table.

"Can I ask you a favour?"

"Sure, Dad. "

"Would you be able to look after Garak tomorrow? I could bring him to Ops but –" Ben's guilt in asking started to manifest in excessive explanation, but Jake cut him off with a smile.

"But he'd be bored out of his skull. Yeah, no worries. Nog and I were going to hang out, maybe try out a new holosuite. I'll see if mini-Julian wants to come along too."


	7. Incident

Despite his exalted position as Emissary, Ben's prayers for a speedy response from the orphanages went unanswered. The week passed with no news, good or bad, and no significant change in Garak – at least where Ben was concerned. All he'd managed to coerce out of Garak were reluctant one-word answers to direct questions. Jake had fared better, or so he reported – Garak was still tight-lipped whenever Ben was in the room. 

Using Jake as a buffer, the evenings had not been too awkward or uncomfortable, but tonight Jake was eating dinner at Nog's.

"Are you sure you don't want to invite Nog over here? We're having homemade tortellini and fresh tomato sauce." He displayed the wooden spoon covered in an enticingly thick, red sauce. Jake, to whom gourmet cooking was a routine part of life, was unmoved. 

"Sorry, Dad. I promised." Jake gave him a patronizing pat on the arm and said in a lower voice. "You'll be fine, just, you know, remember to be nice."

Ben rolled his eyes. "I'm always nice."

"Yeah, but you can be, you know, a bit scary."

"Scary? Me?!" Ben pulled back to get a better look at Jake's face.

Jake waved an accusing hand toward him. "Yes, you. I mean, not to people who know you – obviously – but to strangers? Yeah. You've got a resting mean face."

Ben stood there rooted in his surprise. Jake, who was obviously long familiar with this aspect of his character, patted his arm again in perfunctory support. "Sorry. I gotta run or I'll be late. I'll see you later, right? Bye, E!"

With that, Jake abandoned Ben to his fate. Ben felt a prickling in the back of the neck. He swung around to find Garak's eyes fixed on him.

Ben grimaced, then forced his mouth into a smile, his face stretching uncomfortably with the falsity. "We're having tortellini for dinner," he said, trying for jovial but only succeeding at slightly-manic.

Garak said nothing. 

"Which of course you know, because you heard me tell Jake. I hope you like it. It's a kind of pasta. You boil it in water – that's what the big pot is for – and do you know how to tell when it's done?" He finished with a theatrical flourish: "When you put it in, it sinks to the bottom, but when it's done it _floats_."

Garak narrowed his eyes, not even bothering to hide his skepticism. 

Ben scowled. He gave it up, retreating to the refuge of the kitchen. He was done making a fool of himself. It was a waste of time, courting Garak's attention. In a few days he would be gone, and it wouldn't matter one goddamn bit whether he talked to Ben before that or not.

He chopped parsley, basil, oregano and thyme, and added them to the sauce with a pat of butter, the familiar rhythm relaxing him. As he put the water on to boil and grabbed the plates, his anxiety returned. Dinners with Jake were the highlight of his day, a time for conversation and connection. He pictured the silent stilted meal that awaited him and moodily dumped the tortellini into the water. Leaving the pasta to cook, he went to wash up for dinner, stepping past Garak in the living room and locking himself in the refresher.

He washed his hands and then leant over the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. "You can do this," he told his reflection. "You've survived a lot worse than a solitary dinner with a five-year-old, even if it is Garak."

Resolved, he stepped out, just as a jolting crash came from the kitchen. Sprinting forward, the scene sprang into view: the pot rocking on the floor, the water pooling in the corners, a flood of tortellini, splatters of sauce, an overturned stool and Garak standing stunned in the middle of it all.

"What happened?" he said, the words coming without thought and sounding like a snapped request for a status report after an attack. 

Garak bolted.

"Garak!" he bellowed, giving pursuit and cursing under his breath.

Garak darted into the bedroom and backed himself into the far corner.

"Garak," Ben said more gently. He advanced with one hand out, as if steadying a nervous horse. 

A rush of bottled-up words burst forth from Garak. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it was an accident, I didn't mean to. I'll clean it up." 

Ben stepped closer, hoping to calm him, but only managed to send him spiralling into a panic.

"Please, don't. I'll be good. I promise." He was shaking, gasps filling the painful spaces between the spilled words.

Ben knelt down, softening his voice. "It's all right. I'm not angry. I just want to see if you hurt yourself." 

Garak thrust his left hand behind his back.

"I didn't. I didn't hurt myself." He glanced up at Ben with terrified eyes.

Ben took a deep breath, more to calm himself than Garak. "Elim," he said, gently but firmly. "Show me your hand."

Slowly, shakingly, the hand was presented. Ben reached forward of take hold of it, Garak flinching at his touch. He took hold of his wrist and gently turned the hand over. The skin and scales were raw, red and blistered. 

Ben winced. "That's not too bad. I bet Nurse Jabara can fix that. Let's go down to the infirmary to see her, okay?"

Elim dropped his gaze to the floor. Ben rose to his feet, knees protesting. If it had been any other child, he would have picked them up and carried them, but he worried how Garak would react. Instead, he reached for Garak's non-injured hand. Garak made no protest but the reluctance was like a lead weight around his legs as he followed.

They received curious glances as they made their way down to and across the Promenade. Ben responded only with nods and a purposeful stride that discouraged questions. His mind kept returning to the incident, disturbed by the implications of what he had witnessed. 

He was relieved to find Nurse Jabara on duty. Garak didn't need the stress of a strange person right now.

"We've had a bit of an accident," he explained. "Gara – Elim's hand got burned."

Jabara knelt down. "That must hurt. May I take a look?"

A flicker of eyes towards him.

"Go ahead," Ben prodded.

Elim held out his hand. Jabara turned the wrist around and examined it. "Hmmm. We can fix that, but it's going to take a little time. Cardassian skin and scales are very tough, which is good or the burn would have been worse. Sit here." She pulled over a low stool.

"Now, how did this happen?" she asked as she began passing the dermal regenerator slowly over the damaged tissue.

"I wanted to see if the food floated," Garak said, his voice small and his eyes on the floor.

Jabara turned curious eyes on Ben.

"I was making tortellini – it's an Earth food, pasta, made of flour and water and you cook it in boiling water."

She tilted Garak's head up so he had to look at her.

"I needed a stool, but it fell over," he admitted.

"I see. You'll be more careful next time, won't you?"

Garak nodded, a miserable picture of penitence.

When Jabara was done she patted his hand and held it up for Elim to look at. "All done. See? You did very well. Now, can you wait by the door for a minute?"

Elim slipped off the stool. Jabara squared her shoulders and turned to Ben. "I suppose you keep your quarters at Federation Standard?"

"Yes?"

She set her jaw. "That's much too cold for a Cardassian, especially a child. You need to turn the heat up, or at the _very_ least get him some warmer clothing - like the ones he was given when he _left_ here," she said pointedly. "His body temperature is too low, which means he'll have been feeling tired and achy."

Ben opened his mouth to protest that Garak hadn't told him anything was wrong but snapped it shut when the memory of his earlier, somewhat smug, remonstrances to Odo showed him the futile irony of any attempt to defend himself. 

"His scales are too dry - and his hair! What awful products have you been using? Cardassian hair isn't like human hair, you know."

As a long-serving member of Starfleet – and as a formerly married man - Ben knew when to submit to a superior officer. He pulled out the patented Sisko apologetic stance which had never failed to win over his wife: a wry smile, a slight dip of the head, hands held out in supplication. "I apologise. I haven't had much experience with Cardassian children. If you'd be good enough to provide some reading material ...?"

Jabara's indignation faltered but did not entirely dissipate. She granted him a reprieve but no smile. "Well .... I'll send something over tonight."

Ben thanked her and fled before other deficiencies of his care were brought up for discussion. Hand on Elim's back, he steered him quickly out of the Infirmary and onto the Promenade, but then stopped. They'd been over an hour at the infirmary, and it would be too late to start dinner again after getting the kitchen cleaned, but the thought of some bland replicated meal depressed him. Fortunately, other options were ringed around him.

"What do you say we get some Bajoran food?" he asked.

He got a yawn in response – little wonder given the hour, the shock and excitement, and the drained feeling the dermal regenerator tended to leave in its wake. 

"Come on," he said, and led Elim up to the Celestial cafe. 

The owner - Chalan Aroya, a beautiful and beautifully dressed Bajoran who was one of Garak's best customers – greeted them at the door, bypassing Ben to fawn over Elim. 

"Oh, dear! You're so sweet! Do you remember me? I'm Aroya."

Elim shook his head.

She patted his head. "That's all right. I'm sure we'll be fast friends in no time."

"We missed dinner," said Sisko. "I was hoping to pop in fora quick bite, but I can see you're busy." Every table in the popular little cafe was full.

"Tsk, don't worry about that. Come along."

She grabbed Elim's hand and led him off, Ben trailing behind as she bustled into the kitchen, thinking how much more comfortable Elim was with women than men; another unwelcome piece to the picture.

Though he frequented the cafe on a regular basis, Ben had never been in Arroya's kitchen before. It was small but orderly, every space full but no space wasted, full of warmth and scintillating smells. Ben breathed it in like summer air. 

Aroya patted a stool and Elim clambered up. Ben sat beside him.

"You can be my tasters, all right?"

They had a bit of everything: a rich and meaty broth, fresh soft bread, bites of cheese. It was heaven and Ben sank into it like a bed of soft clouds. When at last they had finished, with an airy fruit souffle, Ben was as full as he could remember being and Elim was almost toppling from the stool in his fatigue.

He turned to Aroya. "That was wonderful. One of the best meals I've had in a long time, and I can't thank you enough."

She waved him off. "I enjoyed the company." She looked fondly over at Elim. "Now, I think someone needs to go to bed."

Elim didn't protest when Ben scooped him up, and before they had left the Promenade he was fast asleep, head resting on Ben's shoulder.


	8. Visit

Ben could admit his faults. He was stubborn. He liked to be right. He liked to win. He couldn't always answer for his temper or his tact. Despite this, he was a reasonable person. He could admit fault and, once admitted, be gracious in defeat. Jabara's instructions were graciously received and meticulously followed.

He raised the temperature in his quarters – a compromised setting that prevented Elim from freezing and kept him and Jake from sweltering – and addressed the discrepancy with a new set of thermal underclothes. Within a day, Elim was more relaxed, his colour less ashen.

Happy with his success, Ben had procured scale oil and hair oil and nail oil and all the multitude of oils Cardassians seemed to require. He brushed oil into Elim's hair, rubbed it onto his nails, and buffed it into his scales until they shined. Elim basked in the attention, and Ben felt he was finally making progress.

Finally, in deference to Jabara's Point Number 10 (the social nature of Cardassians and ill effects of isolation), Ben found himself outside the O'Brien's quarters ringing the chime.

The Chief opened the door and bid them welcome with a reasonable facsimile of hospitality. Ben could hardly expect otherwise when he was asking the man to give up his one free afternoon to entertain his superior officer and a Cardassian he had never liked. But where Miles was resigned, Julian was ecstatic. He stood beside the chief bouncing on the balls of his feet, clutching the Chief's pantleg and looking as if he'd been pestering him with endless repetitions of When Will They Be Here? As soon as they entered, he glommed onto Elim and dragged him off to his bedroom.

Which left Ben and Miles standing uncomfortably in the living room.

"Beer?"

"Please."

When Miles sat down, an overflowing pint in his hand, his pleasure was much more genuine. He took a long pull, sighed, leaned back in his chair, and waved his mug toward Ben. "So. How's it going with ...?" He cocked his chin toward the bedroom.

Ben wasn't sure he could find adequate words for either the situation or his feelings, or that he would if he could. Ben understood now Julian's frustration the few times he had tried to explain his friendship with Garak. There were too many variables Garak: with who he was, who he had been, who he seemed to be, who he pretended to be, what he had done, what had been done to him. Ben settled on a vague truth, which seemed appropriate where Garak was concerned. 

"It's complicated."

Miles snorted. "When isn't it with Garak?"

"What about Julian?" Ben asked. 

"Exhausting. He either wants to be telling you what he knows or asking you questions about what he doesn't. But that wasn't the surprise – I mean, you've met Julian, right? Jules, he prefers. Anyway, what was more surprising was that in a way I still have my friend. I mean yes, it's different, but we still like doing the same things – holosuites and games and stuff. It would've been hard with Julian if we were starting from scratch, trying to find common ground."

"I can see how that would make things easier." He and Elim were miles apart, and yet he realised with some irony that as challenging as Elim's complexity was, he preferred it to Julian's chaos.

"Have you heard anything? From the orphanage?" Miles asked.

"Not yet."

"It's a weird thing, this reliving or whatever they call it. I can see how it _sounds_ attractive, but to do it? No thanks."

Ben had spent some time talking to the Teclite historians. "They think it was a chance to right wrongs, to give people who'd been treated badly by fate another chance."

"Huh. I wonder if it will be. Better, that is. Somehow I doubt Garak had an easy life, but I don't think an orphanage run by people who hate you is quite what they had in mind. Maybe he'll be lucky, but the odds are against it."

Ben appreciated that the Chief didn't talk up their sending Garak away to an orphanage as a good thing, simply to make themselves feel better. Just because it was their only option didn't mean Ben would fool himself into thinking that it was a good one.

They chatted more about Julian's enthusiasm for but lack of skill in painting, Molly's delight in having a sibling, Keiko's upcoming visit to Bajor, and the imminent failure of the cooling and heating system if the new parts didn't come in. 

Before long more than an hour had passed and Ben's stomach started to gurgle.

"I guess I'd better go and see about dinner," he said.

Miles stood up with alacrity (probably before Keiko could extend an invitation for them to say, Ben judged) and directed a shout towards the bedrooms. "Julian! Molly! 5 minutes!"

Ben took his and the Chief's glasses into the kitchen, then walked back to collect Elim. As he approached, he heard the end of a whispered conversation.

"But _why_ can't you stay?"

"Because nobody likes me. Nobody wants me."

" _I_ like you."

Ben waited a moment, then knocked gently against the door frame.

"Come on, Elim," he said, "It's time for dinner."


	9. Offers

A few days later, walking into Ops to start the day's work, Ben noticed how he took time to chat with the staff on duty, how he whistled a little tune as he sat at his desk, how he listened patiently to Kira's report on the never-ending list of problems requiring his attention. 

It was the peace of the last few days. They had settled into a routine. A quiet dinner and then tidying up, Ben cooking and Elim setting the table and Jake cleaning up. After dinner, Jake huddled in the corner of the sofa writing in the scrunched-up position he fell into when thinking hard, as if he needed to contain all of his thoughts until he could direct them through his rapidly typing fingers. Elim would get ready for bed, and then he and Ben would sit at the table and play a game (a brilliant idea Ben had hit on to give them something to do without requiring Elim to speak if didn't want to). They played checkers, which Ben had played with his father and then with Jake. Elim learned quickly. reveling in jumping over Ben's pieces. 

Ben started on his monthly staffing reports and was halfway through when his computer chimed: an incoming message from Bajor.

Ben felt his gut tighten as he put the call on the monitor. A harried civil servant appeared, still shuffling papers as he began to speak. "Good morning, Emissary. I am Administrator Daneth, in charge of the rescue centres of the Eastern Provinces."

"Administrator, good morning. I assume you're calling about the placement?"

"Yes." He pressed his thin lips together. "As you know, Emissary, this is an unusual case. An unwanted child is one thing, but a former oppressor of the Occupation! Well, we have made every effort to be of assistance."

"And I appreciate that."

Administrator Daneth consulted his notes, although he must have known what was on them. "There is a small orphanage in the northeastern corner of Hemla that is willing to take him." He paused, making Ben wonder what he was not telling him. 

"The temperature is rather cold there, I believe. Are there other Cardassian children?" Ben asked.

"Cardassian children? No, no, I don't think so. Too cold. Now, you _did_ state in the application that there would be funds available to cover the expenses of taking him in?"

"I did," Ben ground out. So that was the reason they were willing to take him: the proceeds from his shop. 

"Good, good. Well, I will send you the details. I must be off; there are a million things to attend to, it seems."

The screen went blank and Ben glared at it, his good mood ruined. A few minutes later the paperwork arrived. Ben opened the file then closed it. He could look at it after the staffing reports were finished.

Two hours later the application was still unopened. 

Ben was authorizing the Chief's parts requests. After three years of hard work, they'd finally reached the maintenance stage and he no longer had to spend hours explaining to Starfleet admirals in their cushy headquarters why they needed yet another piece of equipment.

He'd just authorised the last one when Kira poked her head in.

"Two of the Teclite historians are here. They'd like to see you, if you're available."

"Any idea why?" She shook her head. " All right, show them in." 

Ben stood to greet his visitors.

"Honoured leader," they intoned with a swaying bow.

"Honoured scholars," Ben said with a matching bow. "May I be of service to you?'

"We are grateful that you have made the data you collected available to us."

"You are most welcome." The Teclites were, understandably, interested in the effects of their artifact on Julian and Elim.

"It has occurred to us," said the more senior of the two, Scholar Tec'Laka, "that although the re-younglings appear to have no knowledge of their former lives, who may say what memories or developments could occur as their re-aging progresses?"

The thought had occurred to Ben, as well. Would memories start to return, or ghosts of them? 

"You would like regular updates?" he ventured.

"It would please us, yes. We would prefer that one be placed under our constant observation. We understand from the Honoured Barkeeper that there is one re-youngling whom no one has spoken for."

Ben hesitated. "Nothing has been decided yet."

"We understand, Honoured Leader. We ask only that you will keep us informed. We shall be on your station another eleven-day."

Ben saw them out and then returned to his desk. He picked up his baseball and twirled it around in his hands. 

Were these really Elim's only options? To be abandoned on the streets of Cardassia, to be raised as a pariah on Bajor or to grow up as a lab rat on Tecla?

Were these really the only options he would allow?


	10. Home

As Ben stepped through the door to his quarters he was welcomed by the warm air, the smell of spiced stew and a happy smile.

"Hi, Yad."

"Hey you," Ben said. He wandered over to the couch, ruffled his son's hair and glanced over his shoulder. "What are you reading?"

Elim absently straightened his hair and scrunched up his nose. "James Bond. Jules is really into it right now."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Of course he is." 

Julian and Garak, Elim and Jules. Still inseparable.

Elim looked up. "Uncle Felix says he's old enough that he's going to send him one of his holonovels for his birthday."

Ben thought it might be time for another talk with Uncle Felix, if he thought Miles was going to let an 8-year-old play one of _those_ holonovels.

"Thanks for putting the stew on to reheat. It smells even better than yesterday." He inhaled deeply, trying to track down an earthy undertone. "Did you add something?"

"It needed saffron." 

Ben smiled to himself. Lack of confidence was not something his son battled with, which was fortunate, given his other challenges. 

As the Teclites had predicted, Elim and Jules' former lives sometimes intruded in unexpected and unwelcome ways. On occasion, they each had vivid dreams of events, too often traumatic, that had happened to them at the same age. Ben and the counselor had spent hours together and separately with Elim, and Miles had done the same with Jules. At least they knew now why Julian had cut off all ties with his parents. 

Elim's past was still a mystery, but Ben had his suspicions, and _Uncle_ Enabran had better hope Ben never got his hands on him. 

Ben went into the kitchen to stir the stew. He tasted it. Elim was right – it _did_ need saffron.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd write a little something for the Just In Time Fest, maybe a few drabbles, and .... it kinda got away from me. Hope you enjoyed it! And all of the great fics in the Just In Time Collection.


End file.
